


even if it's a lie, say it will be all right

by 1000_directions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), Matching Tracksuits, Past Infidelity, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 18:13:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11041566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Eleanor knew that it wasn't going to be easy when she got back together with Louis, but she wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be.





	even if it's a lie, say it will be all right

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to [pillarboxred](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pillarboxred/pseuds/pillarboxred) for turning all my Z's to S's. I accept personal responsibility for all the run-on sentences that appear in this story; she is, however, responsible for the semi-colon I just put in this sentence. :) This story would not exist if she hadn't encouraged me to add a little more comfort to the ostensible hurt/comfort drabble I had posted, and then read all of my drafts, and then did my brit-pick even though she is not a brit. :) Thank you, Jen, for being a friend and a confidant and a partner in crime and the Darwin to my Huxley, always. ♥♥
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone on tumblr who has reblogged or liked my posts or sent me asks or otherwise encouraged me to continue writing for this fandom in general and this pairing in particular. Your generosity has been overwhelming to me, and I'm so grateful for it.
> 
> This is a story about Louis' struggle for equilibrium following the death of his mother. Please read the tags, and please let me know if you think anything else needs to be tagged.

If Louis doesn’t shower today, Eleanor doesn’t know what she’s going to do.

“Rise and shine,” she says to the lumpy pile of blankets surrounding her boyfriend. It’s nearly three in the afternoon, and he’s still in bed. She walks decisively to the window and throws open the curtains, and Los Angeles sunlight floods the room. Louis groans from somewhere beneath his blanket pile.

“I’m sleeping, El, leave it be.”

She sits on the edge of the bed and gently runs her fingers through his greasy hair, the only part of him that’s exposed. The room smells like a pub. These last few days, Louis was still drunk when he woke up, and he stayed drunk all day, and he went to sleep drunk, and then he woke up drunk again, and she doesn’t think he’s so much as cleaned his teeth in five days, and she doesn’t know if she can keep doing this. She loves him so much that it scares her, but it’s not the only part of this that scares her.

“You need to wake up, my love,” she says, finding an ear buried underneath all his matted hair. She tugs gently on his earlobe. She knew when they got back together that it wasn’t going to be easy, but she wasn’t prepared for how hard it would be, how useless she would feel.

There have been some good days. A few weeks ago, they went out to dinner and did some shopping. They were so brazenly in public for so many hours, and she waited for someone to recognize them, and no one ever did. Louis held her hand and kissed her smiling mouth in the middle of the restaurant, and no one noticed, and she was giddy with it, like they were getting away with something. There have been other days where they just stayed in bed, fucking lazily, her body pinned beneath his, his eyes so shockingly blue. These last two years, she’d forgotten what it felt like, having all of his attention so intensely focused just on her. It was luxurious. It felt so indulgent letting Louis adore her so much, to feel his hot mouth on her neck as he whispered, “Love you, El. Love your body. Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”

But there have been bad days, too. And lately, it’s been a lot of bad days in a row. And Eleanor has never loved anyone as much as she loves Louis, but she doesn’t know if that’s going to be enough. If _she’s_ going to be enough. Because Louis needs so much, and she has no idea what she’s doing.

“What would you like to do today?” she asks the back of Louis’ neck. “Maybe go for a run with the dogs? Might be nice to get some exercise.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters. He never used to talk to her like that, not before. But this is a different Louis, and if she wants to be with him, she has to accept some of these sharp parts she doesn’t like so much.

“I could do us a fry-up,” she says. “I think we have a few eggs left.”

He turns on his side to face her, and he is sleep-mussed and grumpy. He looks so, so young with his hair this short. She looks at him sometimes and just aches with how badly she wants to fix him, and she is so terrified that she’ll fuck it all up.

“Don’t wanna do anything today,” he says. “My head fuckin’ hurts, El.”

“Maybe just take a shower,” she says. “You’ll feel better if you get clean. And then I can tidy up in here, air the room out a bit.”

“Leave it, El,” he says, and his eyes narrow a little.

“Let me just change the sheets,” she says. “You’ll feel so much better with a shower and some clean sheets.”

“You’re not my fucking _mother_ ,” he snarls, and it’s angry, so fucking angry, and she’s never heard him talk this way before, and she’s almost going to yell at him, but the words sink in for both of them at nearly the same time, and for a second, Louis’ face goes devastatingly sad, and then the mask is back up, and he’s angry again, and he throws back the sheets almost violently and stalks into the bathroom and slams the door behind him. A minute later, she hears the shower running.

She didn’t know it was going to be this hard. She knew, on some level, that it would be hard. But she didn’t know it was going to be _this_ hard. He’s never been this mean to her before. Even when they’d broken up, it was never angry, just sad for a while, and then nothing.

They’d fucked after Jay’s funeral, the first time she’d even seen him in years. He’d come up to her, said _can we go somewhere and talk?_ and they’d locked themselves into one of the toilets and hadn’t ended up talking at all. He’d stood himself behind her and pressed her up against the door, and it was cold against her cheek, and he’d rolled up her skirt and pushed her pants down to her knees. She’d braced herself with her forearms on the door as he fucked into her, harder than she’d been expecting, but good. And he cried as he fucked her, and she cried a little, too, because she loved him so much, even after all that time, and he was in so much pain, and it was breaking her. It was the first time they’d so much as touched in years, and he was the love of her life, and he was behind her where she couldn’t even see him, could only eavesdrop on his grief and hope she was giving him something that helped. It wasn’t how she’d imagined them getting back together, but she would give him any single part of her that he needed, and she thinks she always will.

She gives him a few minutes to be alone, and then she goes into the bathroom after him. The door isn’t locked, which is a good sign. There’s an open bottle of painkillers on the counter, and her heart stops for a moment, and she tells herself he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ , but it’s not until she’s close enough to see that the bottle is full almost to the top that she breathes easy again. She knows him, and she knew he had a headache, but he can be so rash these days, and so sad, and she’s so afraid of failing him. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, centring herself, and then she strips off her clothing and climbs into the shower with him. He’s standing half under the spray with his back to her, not washing, not moving, and his skin is furious red where the water hits him. She reaches past him to make it just a little cooler, and he catches her wrist, so gently.

“Did I fuck it all up again?” he asks quietly. “Did I just lose you again?” She leans over and kisses the back of his neck, right where his wet hair meets the bumps of his spine.

“I love you so much,” she whispers into his skin. “You can’t lose me, Louis Tomlinson. I love you with my whole heart.” It’s not okay, what he said, how he’s been acting lately. It’s not okay, and it’s going to have to stop, and she believes that it will when he’s had more time to mourn. But she’s going to love him through it, because she doesn’t know what else to do.

“I’m sorry, El,” he says, still not facing her, and his voice is so fragile, and she can tell that he’s been crying and is probably going to cry again. And she doesn’t acknowledge that, because she can’t.

“Let me wash your hair,” she says, nudging him with her hip. He turns around and shuts his eyes, tips his tear stained face backwards to stand under the spray. When his hair’s all wet, she massages the shampoo in with just her fingertips, and then she digs in with her nails, the way he likes. She helps him rinse out his hair, and they both pretend he isn’t crying.

“All clean, my love,” she says eventually, and that’s when he just crumples. He goes down to his knees, so she does too, and he just collapses into her, his head pressed awkwardly to her chest, the tips of his ears so red, and he just sobs. It’s broken and ugly, and his whole body is shaking, and she holds him so tight, her thumbs digging into his biceps as she sways him just a tiny bit.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her mouth right against his ear. “You’re okay, my darling. You’re fine, love.” His arms come around her, too. He keeps crying, but he’s holding her, too, and eventually, his breathing evens out a little bit, and he starts to settle down, but she doesn’t let go for ages, not until their fingers go pruny and he’s shivering a little against her. Louis Tomlinson can never bear the cold.

She turns the water off and selects the biggest towel on the rack, a green ratty one that he’s had as long as she’s known him. She drapes the towel over him like a hood, and it goes down nearly to his knees. And just like he always had before, he opens his arms to her, and she steps into his embrace, and the towel is big enough to wrap around the both of them. His arms are decisive around her, and the towel is just a threadbare whisper against the back of her neck. This was always their favorite towel. This is still her favorite place.

He barely touched her when they were showering, but he’s touching her now, just the gentle stroke of his hands up and down her ribcage. She’s horribly ticklish whenever anyone else tries to touch her sides, but Louis is so deliciously deliberate against her skin. He knows her so bloody well. It’s comforting, and it’s terrifying.

“Let’s get you into some clothing, love,” she says, but then he’s kissing the side of her neck, tender and repentant, and she closes her eyes and just lets herself feel this moment. His hands have settled low on her hips, and she can feel a pulse under his thumbs, like all her blood is diverting to the places where he’s claiming her.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against her skin, and his mouth is so light on her neck that she can barely even feel the scratch of his beard.

“Keep going,” she says, tilting her head away, giving him more room to work. He’s always been so devastatingly good with his mouth, and she’s suddenly greedy for it, running her hand up his neck and tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her skin, holding his mouth in place against her. He groans and then nips at her neck, and she digs her fingers in, pulling at his hair a little harder than she likes but not as hard as he sometimes asks her for. And just like she’d wanted, his hands creep lower until he’s scooping her up, and the towel falls to the floor as her arms and legs wrap around him like a reflex. He carries her haltingly back into the bedroom, stumbling a little as he goes through the door but correcting his balance easily.

“Be careful with me,” she says imperiously, as if she’s ever known him to be anything but.

“Always,” he says seriously, and then he pinches her bum and drops her inelegantly onto the bed. She squawks and swats at him, but he deftly catches her hands as he climbs on top of her with a grin. She squeezes his hands and cranes her neck to kiss him, and he settles easily onto her. Everywhere their skin touches is electricity, sending little sparks zinging up and down her spine as she feels him getting harder against her stomach.

“Just get inside me already,” she whispers, rocking her hips up against him, and he groans and bites his lip before pulling away to find a condom.

Louis has been on antidepressants a few months now, and he’s still trying to figure out the dosage that gets him through the day without feeling completely numb. With the one he’s on now, he only gets hard about half the time, and he gets so angry about it sometimes. He mostly won’t talk about it, but she tries to reassure him whenever she sees a chance, _I need you to be okay in your head, love, it’s not forever, you can shag me stupid for the next forty years once we get the rest of it worked out_.

But everything is working right now, and she pushes up onto her elbows to watch him stroke himself a few times before slipping on the condom, and she’s weirdly proud of him in this moment, and it’s revolting, how much she loves him. It’s sickening. She’s going to love him forever, really and truly forever like in love songs and fairy tales and romantic comedies. She’s going to love his stupid jokes and his smelly feet and his malfunctioning dick and his brilliant, damaged, explosive heart. This gets to be hers.

She’s so wet already that it’s almost embarrassing, how desperate she is just to get fucked by him, and he pushes in smoothly, barely giving her time to get used to it before his hips are slamming against her. But it’s perfect, she wants it hard and deep and he gives it to her, he fucks into her so hard that he pushes her up the bed with each thrust, and it feels like her skeleton is shaking inside her body.

“You know,” he says, and he’s breathing hard, and there’s so much sweat collecting at his hairline that he’s got a drop on his eyelashes, “I’d meant to eat you out a bit first, El. Really wanted to get my tongue up in you, get you all over my face.” She closes her eyes and shudders, can picture him so clearly between her legs, his face shiny from her, the way he sucks filthy kisses into her thighs and makes her so messy.

He shifts his weight and slips one hand in between them, feeling where he’s pushing into her before letting his thumb rest lightly on her clit. She rocks up against him, trying to get some friction, but he keeps his touch light and teasing. Sometimes she likes that, sometimes she lives for him just taking what he needs from her and denying her any relief for as long as she can stand it, but right now, she’s frustrated. She wants it right now, she wants to come fast and dirty and _right now_ , and she sneaks her own hand down on top of his and pushes his thumb hard against her. She ruts up against him, circling her hips frantically as she grinds against his finger, his dick still pistoning in and out of her, and she’s close, he’s got her so close, and she just needs a little bit more, and she runs the nails of her free hand down his back, and he hisses and just _pounds_ her, and he wrenches her orgasm out of her, and she wails as she comes.

And he doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow down, and he keeps his thumb playing with her relentlessly. And she’s so sensitive and it’s almost too much, but she just goes limp and lets him work her, and she doesn’t come again, but when she feels his dick flex inside her, she tightens around him the best she can and it’s so overwhelming. She’s worked up just the perfect amount where she’s fine to let that feeling simmer inside her for a while, and just being close to him is so much, just feeling his body against hers, the way his head drops to her chest, the way his hot breath tickles her skin. Being able to give him this, after so many days of feeling like maybe there was nothing left he needed from her, is a lot to process. Her whole body is humming with his nearness, the intimacy of seeing him so vulnerable, and she trails her fingertips up and down his arms, lightly tracing the curves of his muscles while he tries to catch his breath.

It takes him a minute, but he eventually rolls off her, pulling off the condom and dropping it into an empty teacup on the bedside table. It’s vile, but she bites her lip and doesn’t say anything, even when he looks right at her, like he’s daring her to protest. Louis can get awfully defensive and prickly when she needles him about the mess, especially lately, and besides, that’s far from the worst place she’s unexpectedly found one of his used condoms. It’s certainly not worth arguing about today. She’s feeling lazy and well-fucked, her bones turned to liquid beneath her skin, and she’s content just to lie here for a little while, the sweat cooling from her body as Louis’ fingers trace idly over her shoulder.

She gets up first, to use the toilet and clean up a bit, and then she throws open the closet to see what they’ll wear. Her side is still pretty sparse, but it’s okay. It’s enough that she has a side to his closet again. Her eyes catch a forest-green jogsuit that she hasn’t worn yet, and she’s pleased to see a similar one on his side of the closet. She gathers all four pieces into her arms and plops them onto the bed.

“El,” he groans, rolling his eyes dramatically. She sits beside him on the bed, and he strokes a finger over her hip. “Do we have to?”

“Yes, my love,” she says lightly. His index finger circles her bellybutton and then creeps higher. She senses the instant right before he goes for her breast, and she slaps his hand away before he gets there. “Cheeky,” she mutters, standing up and beginning to wriggle into her clothing before they get distracted again and never get out of bed. “Get dressed.”

“Why the matching tracksuits?”

“You know why. You tell me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he rolls his eyes again, but his voice is soft when he says “We’re wearing the same color because we’re on the same team.”

“That’s right,” she says, leaning over to kiss his nose. “Team Tommo. I’ve got you no matter what, and you can’t get rid of me. Now put your dick away and let’s call Freddie.”

“I haven’t talked to him in a few days,” Louis says quietly, and Eleanor reaches over to smooth back his fringe.

“I know,” she says. “But I’m sure he’d love to hear from his dad, and I think today would be a good day for it. How about you get dressed, and I’ll ring Briana and make sure it’s a good time.”

He nods slowly, and she leaves the room before he can protest again. She heads downstairs to the kitchen, puts the kettle on the hob, opens the refrigerator to see what groceries they have in, thinks about making eggs, thinks about making toast. But she knows she’s just stalling, and she doesn’t like to be a person who’s intimidated and avoidant, so she squares her shoulders and calls Briana.

“This is unexpected,” is how Briana answers the phone, and El closes her eyes and wills herself to be cheerful.

“Hiya,” she forces herself to say. “Louis was wanting to talk to Freddie today, and I was just checking if this would be a good time.”

“He’s down for a nap,” Briana says slowly, “but he’ll be up pretty soon. Um, is Louis… up for this?”

“Of course he is,” Eleanor says quickly. “Why wouldn’t he be?” As if it hasn’t been two weeks since Louis has gone to see Freddie in person. As if their carefully constructed custody schedule hasn’t been thrown into complete disarray by the tailspin of grief that has consumed Louis.

“I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m not, like, mad at him for going through a hard time,” Briana says cooly. “But he can’t talk to his son if he’s drunk, and you _know_ that, and I just need to know that he’s okay first.”

“He’s good today,” Eleanor says softly. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve been very patient with us, and you didn’t have to do that. But he’s really good today, and I think he needs this.”

“Okay then,” Briana says. “I’ll give you guys a call when he’s up.”

“Thank you.”

“And… and I’m glad he’s doing okay today,” Briana says. “I worry about him, you know? And Freddie does miss him, and I wish there was a way to skip this part so he could just be okay again, I really do. We miss him.”

“He’s trying really hard,” Eleanor says hesitantly. “I know it doesn’t always look like it, but he’s trying.” Even saying that much feels like almost a betrayal, because Louis is so ferociously protective of himself. But she needs to be sure that Briana understands.

They make plans for the call and hang up. The kettle whistles, and Eleanor is fixing their tea when Louis finally wanders downstairs in his green tracksuit, the sleeves so long that just his fingertips are poking out.

“Cheers,” he says as Eleanor hands him his mug. “What did she say then?”

“He’s napping, but she’ll ring us in a little bit when he’s up.” She sips at her tea and studies his face, sees the way his eyes light up just for a moment before the doubt creeps back in.

“I should never have gone this long without talking to him,” he says. “It’s rubbish.”

She knows what he’s really saying: that _he’s_ rubbish, that he’s only a few mistakes away from becoming the terrible father he never even knew, that he’s going to abandon his son like he himself was abandoned, that his son will grow up hating him, and that all of this was somehow pre-written into his genetic code, immutable even if he gives it his best efforts, and creeping inevitably closer with each wrong decision he makes. But he won’t verbalise it, and she can’t argue with his thoughts.

“There’s this thing he learned six months ago,” Louis says. “This object permanence thing that babies learn. Briana would show him a toy and then hide it under a blanket while he was watching. And at first, he couldn’t figure it out, and he thought the toy was gone, so he would cry. But after a time, he learned that the toy didn’t disappear just because he couldn’t find it at first. And he would lift the blanket and it would still be there.”

“Smart little lad,” Eleanor says.

“He had to _learn_ that, El,” Louis says. “Before then, if something went away, if he couldn’t see it with his eyes and hold it with his hands, it was just… gone.”

It takes her a minute to follow Louis’ train of thought and see the anguish so plain on his face and realise that he’s talking about himself, that he’s wondering if Freddie forgot his existence every time Louis dropped him off at Briana’s house. She hates this sometimes, hates that he carries this useless pain around for so long and never lets anyone help him with it, hates that it’s probably been six months now that he’s been angry with himself for something he didn’t even do wrong. She just puts down her mug and wraps her arms loosely around his neck, and she meets his eyes, so beautiful and so conflicted, and she kisses him softly, licking the tea from his lips until she feels him relax in her arms with a sigh.

“That boy loves you like you hung the stars and invented Christmas,” she murmurs. “He’s so excited to talk to his dad today, and he has never forgotten you, not for one single bloody second. How could anyone ever forget you?” He rolls his eyes and looks away from her, but she cups his face in her hand and pulls him back to face her, his cheekbone so sharp and familiar beneath the sweep of her thumb. “Not for one single second did I forget you,” she whispers. “Even when you weren’t mine anymore, I was still yours.” Even when she didn’t want to be, when she was desperate to move on and build a new life, she was always still a little bit his. “That boy loves you so much, and I love you, and your family loves you.” She presses her palm firmly to his chest. “They love this good, kind heart you have. There’s no one else like you, Louis Tomlinson. How could Freddie forget you for even one second?”

“Shit, El,” he says, and it sounds like he tries to laugh, but it comes out a little wavery. And she doesn’t want him to feel embarrassed or self-conscious or critical or any of it, she just wants him to feel loved, so she covers his mouth with hers and swallows all his words and pain and doubt, she tangles her fingers in his hair and she just pulls, steady and firm until he moans into her mouth. He needs to be taken care of sometimes. She knows this, and she knows he can never ask for it when he needs it, so sometimes, she just has to push him until he relents and lets himself be cared for. She kisses him thoroughly, possessively, one unflinching hand in his hair keeping his face pressed to hers while she takes everything she needs from his mouth. 

It’s only when Louis’ mobile buzzes that they pull apart, and he plays with his fringe as he says, “Well, that should be them. How do I look then?”

“You look like a young, fit dad.”

“Cheers, love,” he says with a grin, and he plants a small kiss on her nose before walking around her to answer the call.

“Be right back,” she whispers as he answers, and he nods at her even as he’s greeting Briana and making silly faces at Freddie, and Eleanor freezes this moment in her memory, this fusing of all the little bits of their messy, brilliant life together, and then she sneaks out of the room and up the stairs to the bedroom, where she pulls out her makeup kit and attempts the world’s fastest contour-and-cateye. It’s a little over-the-top for a tracksuit, but every time they’ve chatted before, Briana has looked so effortlessly glamorous, so naturally beachy and breezy and heart-stoppingly beautiful, and Eleanor has always looked like a slob who just rolled out of bed, and she would like to look pretty on the phone just this one time, thank you.

She walks back downstairs, but Louis isn’t in the kitchen anymore. She finds him in the sitting room, stuffed into the corner of the sofa, socked feet up on the seat beside him, and he’s smiling down at the tablet in a way she’s never seen him look at anyone else, not even her. She hears Freddie’s laughter through the speakers as Louis pokes at the camera with his index finger, saying, “Get me out of this box! Let me out!”

“Da, da, da, da,” Freddie is babbling as Eleanor sits at the very edge of the couch, not wanting to intrude but wanting to feel less that she’s on the periphery.

Louis spares her a distracted smile, then he’s back to telling Freddie, “That’s right, I’m your dad, and you’re my best little lad, and I love you so much.”

As has been happening more and more lately, chaos breaks out as Freddie grabs the phone from Briana’s hands and begins running around the house with it, treating them to a bumpy, blurry view of the passing scenery, all soundtracked by Freddie’s squeals of excitement as he evades one adult after the next.

“What a terror,” Louis says, and he couldn’t sound any prouder. “What an absolute menace, the little legend.” Eleanor reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, and he turns his head to kiss her hand lightly, and then everything grinds to a halt as Freddie drops the phone and runs off.

“Grip strength could use some work,” Louis muses, and Eleanor scoots closer to him on the sofa as they wait for Briana to recover the phone.

“I swear that kid doesn’t slow down for a second,” Briana grumbles. “Oh, hey Eleanor. Didn’t know you were joining us.”

“Hope it’s okay,” Eleanor says awkwardly, even though Louis has told her over and over that Briana doesn’t get to dictate this, that Freddie is his son, too, and if he wants his son to know Eleanor then his son is going to know Eleanor, and that’s all there is to it.

That’s so laughably _not_ all there is to it, but it’s not her battle.

“It’s fine,” Briana says, and she sounds almost cheerful as she flips her hair over her shoulder and looks like someone out of a shampoo advert. “Wait, please tell me you’re not both wearing the same ugly sweatshirt.”

“I’ll have you know we’re wearing the same ugly everything,” Louis says haughtily.

“What the actual fuck?” Briana frowns. “Are you starting a cult?”

“We have a set for the little lad, too,” Louis says.

“What about for me?” Briana asks. “Do I get one?”

“Oi, do you think I’m made of money?” Louis asks mildly.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she says, and she laughs, and then he laughs.

It’s still surreal to Eleanor, watching Louis be so familiar and comfortable with this woman she barely even knows. This woman who has an entire secret chapter of Louis’ life that she will never be a part of. Nights they spent together that created a _person_ , that made his beautiful, funny little Freddie. Eleanor can’t help but picture it sometimes, and it hurts her. And it hurts worse than thinking about Danielle. He loved Danielle, and he gave her pieces of himself, and she kept him safe when he desperately needed that from someone, and that does hurt, that’s _excruciating_ to think about. But somehow it’s so much worse to think of Louis and Briana, so carefree and easy together, just messing around, just having some fun. And after all of Eleanor’s planning, after all the years they’d spent thinking of baby names, discussing where they’d raise their children, whether they wanted a boy and two girls, or one girl and two boys, or six boys and seven girls ( _Louis, I’m not getting pregnant thirteen times, and don’t you even dare say the word ‘twins’ at me_ ), Briana got to take that from her. It was supposed to be hers, it was _her_ future with Louis, and it got stolen out from under her.

She watches the two of them chat and laugh, and she keeps her smile fixed on her face. There’s some petty part of Eleanor that sings in her head, _You only had him a few times, and I had him just a few hours ago. I’ve got a cup of his come upstairs on the bedside table, and you’re never going to have him again._ And it’s awful, and that’s not who she is, but it makes her feel better anyway.

Briana wrangles Freddie back to the phone at some point so that Louis can say goodbye, and then he’s running off again, always running now, and he’ll probably never stop. She thinks about the time she’s already missed from his life, and she thinks about how much Louis will hate himself if he misses out on any more of this.

“I really wish you’d let me buy him a tablet,” Louis is saying. “Just for him, so he could call me when he wanted to. Something heavy enough that he couldn’t run off all the time.”

“We are not buying a tablet for a fourteen month old,” Briana says flatly, and Eleanor suspects that this is not the first time they’ve had this discussion.

“Just for this,” Louis says. “Just for me and him. He’s my son, and I don’t understand why I need your permission to buy a present for him.”

“He’s a child, Louis, and I don’t want him glued to a screen all day and ruining his eyes.”

“I want to see _my son_ ,” he says fiercely. Briana is quiet for a minute, and her face gets angry and then softer, one emotion after another as she measures her words.

“If you want to see your son, then get your shit together and come see your son,” she says eventually. “No one’s stopping you. I’ve never tried to stop you.”

Louis is breathing heavily, and his face looks so angry. Eleanor squeezes his hand, just a little too tight, just to help ground him and let him know that she is right here beside him. He breathes in, and he shuts his eyes while he breathes out slowly, and when he opens his eyes, he looks calm again.

“Can I have him tomorrow?” Louis asks very quietly.

“We already have plans to go to the observatory tomorrow,” Briana says. “But you can come if you want. You too, Eleanor. And you can have him Saturday, if that works for you.”

“Yes,” Louis says, shutting his eyes again. “Yes, to all of it. Thank you, Bria.”

“I’ll never keep him from you,” she says softly. “I just need you to show up and be his dad. He loves you so much, and I would never keep him away from you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… be here.”

“I promise,” Louis says.

“I’ll be holding you to that,” she says. “Now, It’s suspiciously quiet over here, so I should get going. I’ll text you about tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Louis says again, and Briana smiles and disconnects the call.

“How about I make us some sandwiches?” Eleanor offers. Sometimes, it’s important to give Louis tasks, to keep him busy so that he doesn’t have time to dwell. “You haven’t eaten all day, love, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“I could eat,” Louis says, and he waggles his eyebrows at her and falls face forward into her lap, and she squeals and slaps at his shoulder.

“Get out of there!” she says. “You’re not eating me for lunch!” 

He rolls onto his side and looks up at her.

“Then maybe I’ll have you for dessert,” he says with a smile.

“Maybe,” she says. “Sandwiches first.”

They go into the kitchen and fix their food, hips bumping as they fight for space at the counter. Louis seems to be in a good mood again, and it’s dizzying how quickly he can ricochet from one extreme to the next these days. Everything is fine, then everything is awful, then everything is wonderful, then everything is horrid. She hopes he’s got it out of his system for a little while, and maybe he can just relax and enjoy the day for once. 

They eat side by side at the table, one of his ankles hooked around one of hers, and it’s like no time has passed. It could be 2014 right now, just the two of them tucked away from the rest of the world, all folded up into the same space. Just the warmth and shape of his body are reassuring to her, a presence that tells her she’s not alone, she has a partner looking out for her. Team Tommo, then and now and always, if she has any say in the matter.

When he’s done eating, Louis ostentatiously drops his napkin on the floor, says, “Oops,” and then gets on his knees beneath the table and situates himself between her legs. He rests his cheek on her thigh and his palms on her knees, and he’s just still for a little bit, just getting himself centred. And then his hands slowly creep up her legs until his fingers hook into her waistband, and she tilts her hips up so that he can pull her joggers down. He’s so close that she can feel his breath through her knickers, and she shudders from the anticipation. He loves this part, he loves just looking at her and smelling her and driving her crazy with the _wanting_. He loves the build up. He loves it when she begs, and she won’t always, but she will today.

“Please,” she whispers, looking down at him. He smirks at her and licks his lips.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me. Please, Louis.” He shuts his eyes and nuzzles right up into her, the tip of his nose brushing right against the wet patch at the front of her pants, and she gasps when she feels him, and she can’t help but clamp her thighs around his head, it’s a reflex, and she’d apologise if she didn’t know how much he loved that.

She wills her legs to relax, and he moves higher, just the tip of his tongue coming out to swipe at her, and he’s close, but he’s not quite where she needs him, so she threads her fingers through his hair and holds on tight, and she moves him a little bit and then pulls him close, and she moans long and low when he closes his lips around her and begins to suck. She loves him like this, she fucking loves him down on his knees, sucking the wet from her pants, and he’s in the perfect spot but she moves him anyway, just because she loves that she can, she pushes him lower and closes her legs around his head again, and she hears his faint moan, muffled by her thighs, and she feels his tongue poke out, exploring her through the fabric. She’s drenched, and he hasn’t even touched her skin yet.

“Take my pants off,” she tells him, rocking her hips up slightly. All she wants to do is grind down on his face and take everything his tongue will give her, but she wants her pants off first.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, and even just the vibrations from his words are making her squirm. His hands grip her hips, pushing her down into the chair, and when she tries to rock up against him, she can’t. Her legs are spread wide, she’s so open to him, and she can’t move in any direction to get any friction.

“Please, Louis,” she whimpers, but he ignores her, his face back between her legs again. He catches the lacy waistband of her pants between his teeth and tugs just a little, just enough to let a little cool air in before he lets go and they snap back to her skin. He dips a little lower, wiggling his tongue just under the elastic of the leg-hole, and he’s so far away from where she wants him but he’s so hot against her skin as he casually takes his time driving her mad, and she can’t bear another second of it. She buries her hands in his hair and just yanks, and his back arches so beautifully as he groans.

She meets his eyes, and his face is just filthy, and they’re both breathing so heavily that she’s not sure she’ll even be able to get the words out. But eventually, she finds enough air to whisper, “Take me to bed,” and he nods slowly and licks his lips, and then he surges up to her, almost knocks the chair over with how fast he’s on her, kissing her just as possessively as she’d hoped he would, thoroughly claiming every last corner of her mouth as his, _Louis was here, Louis was here_.

They race up the stairs, shedding bits of clothing like forest-green breadcrumbs, and soon enough, she’s completely naked on the bed, on her back staring up at him as her chest heaves, and he doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes are moving over her, slowly drinking in every last detail as she grows more and more impatient.

“I can start without you,” she finally says, running her fingertips up her thigh and exaggerating her shiver. It works, he’s on her in a second, but she’s through playing, so she rolls him under her and perches herself on his chest, his wrists pinned loosely to the bed in each of her hands. She wants him, and she’s going to take what she wants.

“El,” he breathes, looking up at her with hooded eyes, and she tightens her grip on his wrists. He’s stronger than she is, and he could shake her off in a second if he wanted to, but he never does.

“Quiet,” she says, touching one finger to his lips, and he leaves his arms where they are, even after she releases him, and he stays quiet. She reaches behind herself to check if he’s getting hard, praying that he’s getting hard, and he’s not quite there yet, but he’s headed in the right direction, and she doesn’t mind a little bit of a challenge, just as long as she gets what she wants.

“First, I’m going to ride your face,” she says, calmly, like this is a thing they do all the time, like it hasn’t been two years since they last attempted it, “and then I’m going to ride your cock.”

“Do it,” he whispers, craning his neck towards her. “Shit, El, just do it.”

And she does, and his mouth is the same revelation it always is, his inquisitive tongue taking her apart bit by bit until she can barely hold herself up anymore, until she loses her balance and just sinks down onto him, and his hands come up to grab her, and she thinks he’s going to push her off, but he pulls her closer, he’s going to suffocate himself with her cunt and he still just wants more, and she can’t believe this is her life again, she can’t _believe_ this is her life again.

She pulls back when her thighs switch from quivering to thrashing, because she won’t be any good to ride him once she comes. Louis’ face is bright red, and his hair is a disaster, and he’s looking at her like he’s starving for her. She leans down and kisses him gently, mindful of how he’s gasping for air, and she tastes herself on his lips, she’s all over his face, she’s marked every last bit of him, _Eleanor was here, Eleanor was here_.

She’s pleased to see that he’s finally hard, and she puts the condom on him and then goes up on her knees. Before, they were always pretty good about condoms, but never perfectly careful. But these days, they are one-hundred-percent perfectly careful. Eleanor doesn’t want a baby yet, but she does want a baby eventually. Maybe soon. Probably fairly soon. And that’s what she thinks about as she sinks down onto him, _I’m going to have a baby with this man. Someday, we’re going to have a baby together_.

It doesn’t take long for her to find a good rhythm, a nice steady pace that she feels in her thighs almost right away, and she rides that burn right to the edge, and Louis digs his fingers into her hips and she takes him along for the ride. They’re both so sweaty that he keeps losing his grip, but she plants her hands on his chest and lets her nails just barely graze him, and she keeps them tethered together as she just takes and takes and takes everything she needs from his body. It’s almost a surprise when she comes, it’s been building for so long that she doesn’t realise how close she is until it’s already happening, and Louis isn’t far behind, and when her thighs finally give out and she collapses onto him, he wraps her up tight in his arms, and his chest is still the perfect place for her cheek to rest as they both struggle to catch their breath, he is still the exact perfect fit.

Louis takes the condom off and puts it into the teacup with the first one, and this time, Eleanor feels comfortable telling him, “That’s revolting, love,” and he shrugs and says, “I know,” and she says, “Well, just as long as you know, I suppose.”

Louis pulls the duvet up around them, and they lie there for a while quietly, every part of her pressed up against every part of him, and it feels so much like a dream that she almost doesn’t hear when he says, “Can you check on them when you’re home next week?”

“Check on the girls for you?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at him.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she says, squeezing him just a little tighter. “You know I love those girls. And I want Ernie and Doris to know who I am.”

“I want that, too.”

“They’re all so grown up now,” she says. “Two years doesn’t sound like a long time, but they’ve all grown up, haven’t they? I don’t know if I can even tell Daisy and Phoebs apart anymore.”

“It’s hard with twins,” he says. “When they… we have all these baby pictures of them, and none of us can ever tell who was who. Not even the two of them. No one except… well, except for Mum, of course.”

“Lou,” she says softly, but he continues.

“So before she… well, just before, Lottie found every single picture of them she could get her hands on. I think she had hundreds and hundreds of them. And she brought them to hospital, and the two of them spent just hours looking at them, and Mum told her who was who in every single picture, and Lottie wrote it down. So now--” His voice breaks, and Eleanor’s heart breaks, too. “So now we still get to have that, El. She’s gone, but Lottie made sure we’d all still know.”

“Lottie is an amazing woman.”

“I’m so worried about her,” Louis says, and Eleanor knows he’s close to crying again. “She’s taken on so much, and they’re all the way over there, and I’m all the way over here. And we’re all we have left, and I’m not even helping. She’s my baby sister, she’s only eighteen, and she’s doing it all, and I’m not even helping her.”

“You’re helping her,” Eleanor says, and Louis buries his face in her shoulder and doesn’t say anything, but she feels his wet breath against her collarbone. “You’re helping all of them, my love. You’re their big brother, and they love you so much. You would do anything in the world for any one of them, and they know that. You’re looking out for them, and you’re taking care of yourself and getting better, and that’s so much.”

“What use am I to them if I’m like this?” he whispers. “El, how long am I going to feel like this? What if this is just… who I am now, and I never get back to who I was before?”

“You’re brilliant,” she says. “You’re still my brilliant Louis. I know this is hard right now, and I wish I could make it easier for you.”

It keeps her up at night, going over and over all the things she could have done differently. She could have been there for him over the last year, could have been there with Lottie, learning about the photos alongside her, helping with the cooking and cleaning, taking care of the babies. She could have been the tether between Louis’ family in L.A. and his other family in Donny. And even now, even today, she should have backed off, or she should have pushed harder. She should insist. She should leave him be. She doesn’t _know_.

“You know,” he says, coughing wetly. “You know I never cheated on you, don’t you, El? Before, when we were together? You know I never cheated on you a single time, don’t you?”

“Of course I know that. Why… why are you saying this now?”

“Because of Dani,” he says, and a little locked cupboard inside of Eleanor slowly starts to open. “Because… because I knew in my head that we were done, but I didn’t want to say it out loud because I couldn’t handle breaking up with her on top of… everything. Because I was a coward, and I wanted her to know without me having to tell her. And I started back with you before I ended it with her. And that’s… not who I am, El.” He’s breathing faster now, and his voice is starting to sound a little hysterical. “El, why am I like this now?”

Eleanor has never, to her knowledge, got with a lad who wasn’t single. Not once ever, because she has standards, and she believes in fidelity, and she would never want someone else to do that to her, so she would never do that to someone else. Not ever, not one single time, except that one time with Louis when she _knew_ he was with Danielle and she didn’t care, didn’t even think about it, just faced the door and spread her legs and let him disappear inside a moment where he could feel something besides his grief. They are not bad people, the two of them, but they did a bad thing. And Eleanor would have done it again and again and again if she got to have Louis at the end of it, but that doesn’t mean she likes to think about it. Because that’s not who she is, that’s _not_ who she is, and so she keeps that transgression locked up in her memory and pretends it never happened, because it’s Louis, because she would give him anything and she knows she always will.

“Darling,” she says softly, and she tilts his chin up so he can’t hide in her shoulder anymore, and his wet eyes are agonising. She kisses the thin skin beneath them, one side and then the other, and her lips are heavy with his tears. “My darling boy, how are we going to fix you?”

“I need to be better,” he says. “I’m no use to anyone like this, and they need me too much.”

“Who do you want to be?” 

Louis shuts his eyes and shakes his head, and Eleanor runs her fingertips lightly along his jaw until he settles.

“I want to be a good father,” he says finally. “I want to be there for Freddie like… like she was there for me. I don’t want to be some stranger who buys him things and sees him once a month. I want him to grow up knowing that we’re best mates.”

“I think that’s lovely.”

“I want… to help Lottie. I don’t want her life to stop at eighteen because she’s raising five kids. She gave up so much this year to help, and it should have been me doing it, and I want her to get that back. She’s too young.”

“We’ll help her, love.”

“I want to stop fucking crying all the time,” he says, swiping angrily at his face. She brushes his hands away and replaces them with hers.

“You will, darling,” she says as her thumb softly arcs over his cheekbones. She wishes he could be as gentle with himself as he is with her. But maybe that’s part of what she’s here for, to gentle him when he’s being harsh.

“How do I get there?” he asks. “El, I know who I used to be, but I can’t figure out how to be him anymore.”

“Somewhere you could start,” Eleanor says cautiously, “is all the drinking, love. You know that Briana won’t let you see him if you keep drinking so much. And you’re not supposed to drink when you’re taking the pills.” She holds her breath, because they’ve fought over less, but he just nods.

“I know,” he says. “I have to stop. I hate how it feels when I stop, but I hate how it feels drunk, too. It’s bad both ways.”

“Maybe you need to find someone to talk to.”

“Like a counsellor?”

“Maybe.”

“I don’t know, El. I’m taking the pills, but I don’t know if I can talk to a stranger. I don’t know if I can do that.”

It’s not a “no.” Last time they had this discussion, it was a “no.”

He shifts them around so that he’s lying flat on his back, and she lays her cheek on his chest and stares hard at the tattoo on his upper arm. Her tattoo. _Far away_. That feels like a lifetime ago, that life where he was always on the road, and she was in uni, and she lived for his phone calls, and for those pockets of time when she could join him and hide away in his hotel room and they could just be a couple. He was so far away so much of the time, and that life is gone, but sometimes, he still feels far away, even sitting in the same room with her. But other times, he’s a solid presence beneath her cheek. Sometimes she can’t even take a breath without smelling his scent. Sometimes his arms wrap around her just right, cradling her body against his, and he lets down his walls just enough for her to creep inside, and she’s closer to him than she ever knew could be possible.

“Do you think it’s going to take a long time?” he asks, smoothing his fingers through her hair.

“It might do,” she says, and she feels the way his body shifts as he swallows.

“How long is too long?” he asks very quietly. “Are you still going to be here if it takes me a very, very long time?” She turns her head and kisses his skin, and she can feel his heart racing fast beneath his ribs, and then she stretches her neck to kiss her tattoo on his arm, and she lets her lips linger there for a moment after, just to make sure he really feels it.

“I’m going to be here forever,” she says. “No matter what, Louis. If you stay like this forever, if this is who you are now, I will stay with you like this. But I don’t think this is going to be forever, love.”

“I don’t know if I can ask you to do that.”

“I don’t need to be asked,” she says. “I’m Team Tommo for life. I knew what I was signing up for.” She didn’t, not at all, didn’t even have an inkling, but she wouldn’t trade it away for anything.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“I know. I forgive you.”

“No, El. Listen to me.” He takes her hands in his and squeezes them. “I love you so much, and I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she says, returning the squeeze. “And I forgive you.”

He lets out a big sigh, and then he’s quiet for so long that she wonders if he fell asleep.

“There’s never any parking at that fucking observatory,” he finally says, and she laughs.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been.”

“Oh, it’s sick. You’ll love it. Just… there’s never anywhere to park.”

“We’ll figure it out,” she says.

“I suppose.”

“And we really should think about getting Briana a matching tracksuit, too. I think she’d like being an official member of Team Tommo.”

“I suppose we’ll figure that out, too,” he says, and he smiles for the first time in ages, and his face is so beautiful that she knows everything will have to work out for him. It just has to.

In another lifetime, she would have given up everything to make this boy happy. In this lifetime, she probably still would.

She reckons that she’s going to find out before too long just how much she’s willing to give up for him. How much of his burden is she willing to carry? Maybe all of it. At least half of it. Half seems like a fair place to start. She’s loved this boy for as long as she’s known how to love. She learned everything she knows about relationships through being with him, and she’s fairly certain that the two of them would be no good for anyone else anymore, because they’ve been shaped so perfectly to balance each other. He’s already got her entire heart, and it seems only fair to offer him all the rest of her, too.

It’s easy to be in a relationship when things are going well. She didn’t see that before, but she didn’t know any better. She knows now that every last second of their prior relationship was easy, easy, easy, and none of it prepared her for this. But she’s sticking around this time, no matter what he says. She’s stronger now, and she knows what she wants, and she knows that she wants to build a life with him, whatever it may look like. He didn’t come back to her the same person he was when he left her, but it doesn’t matter. It just matters that he came back. She doesn’t how to do anything in this world as well as she knows how to love him, and she’s going to give it absolutely everything she has.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com). This story has rebloggable posts [here](http://akai-coat.tumblr.com/post/161716982704/some-of-the-best-things-in-life-are-free-5) or [here](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/161229815604/even-if-its-a-lie-say-it-will-be-all-right-by), dealer's choice. Thanks for reading. Have a nice day :) :)


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